He is Peter Bishop, and therefore, on the day after he finds his daughter (or rather, she finds him), on the day when he finds his wife, he feels like his nightmare is finally ending. And with his daughter, things are alright - she is so much like her mom that he can't help but smile, and the little pieces of himself that he sees in her also delight him. They always had a special connection even when she was so small, and somehow, miraculously, some part of that has survived twenty-one years of separation. He knows that it can't possibly always be this easy, that as the days go by, there will inevitably be kinks in their relationship to work out, but they will work them out - he knows this on an instinctual level.
But with his wife, everything is different; the decisions of the past hang between them, and while he works with her as easily as ever, something is very wrong. He feels this when they talk, when she calmly tells him, "We just were incapable of being what we needed to be for each other. That was all it was." It feels to him like the calm before the storm, before all the emotions she is burying come flying in his face, before she tells him, as she did once on a cold, dark night, "I don't want to be with you." And he is so scared of losing her again, after he just found her, that there is no way he can sleep that night, so after hours of tossing and turning, he makes his way to the kitchen for a cup of tea and a place to think.
*****
She is Olivia Dunham, and so, on the day when she is blown out of the amber, when she opens her eyes to see the people she thought were lost to her forever, she is overwhelmed by so many conflicting emotions that she has no idea how to process them.
Guilt, because of how wrong she was to give up on her daughter. Pride, in the strength she sees in the young woman who fights for those who don't have the courage to fight for themselves. Sorrow, at the memory of all that has been lost to time and circumstance. Longing, to find out everything about who her daughter has become. Regret, when all that remains between him and her is a distant echo of what they once had. Fear, that even this will be lost to them and she will be alone for good. And somewhere deep down, hope, although she barely allows herself to acknowledge it. Hope, that nothing can be so damaged that it cannot be rebuilt, that there are some things that can survive anything the universe throws at them.
So it is not the strangeness of this new world that keeps her awake that night, nor is it the hard mattress, or the unfamiliarity of her surroundings. No, it is the young woman asleep in the next room, and the man sprawled across the mattress against the wall opposite her - these are the reasons she watches the clock mark off hour after hour, unable or unwilling to close her eyes. And although she faces away from him, she knows he is not sleeping either, notices each time he rolls over, hears him breathing, so close to her and yet so infinitely far away.
She lies perfectly still as the hours pass, watches the numbers on the clock change slowly - 3:26... 3:27... 3:28... As the last digit changes from an eight to a nine, she hears the faint creak of old floorboards as he quietly pushes himself up from his blankets and pads out of the room, his bare feet making almost no noise on the dusty floor. It is only then that she rolls over, in time to watch him disappear down the hall, and moments later the sound of cupboards opening and closing lets her know where he is.
She waits until the noises from the kitchen have stopped, then for several minutes longer, and when he does not reappear, she moves from her bed to the doorway, and, when there is still only silence, heads towards the kitchen. Even now, she is not sure why she follows him, or whether she wants to have another painful conversation with him, so she moves carefully, silently, hoping he will not notice her until she has decided what she wants. And the universe seems to be on her side tonight, as he is sitting at the kitchen island with his back towards her, his feet hooked on the rungs of his stool and his attention entirely on the steaming mug in his hands, allowing her to stop and watch him unobserved.
As she stands there in the shadows, leaning against the door frame, the scene in front of her takes her back to a better time, to another quiet evening when she had followed him down to the kitchen of their home.
She had been woken abruptly in the middle of the night by the mattress shifting as he rolled out of the bed, and as he shuffled out of the room, she also crawled out from under the covers. As her feet landed on the floor, the cold seeped into her toes, and she quickly pulled on the pair of slippers that Walter had bought for her, thankful for once for his odd notions of necessities. Chuckling softly to herself at the memory those slippers brought to mind, she crept quietly down the hall, stopping at the nursery door to peek in on Etta as she went by.
By the time she reached the kitchen, he had already put the kettle on to boil, and his head was hidden behind the fridge door as he rummaged through the leftovers and condiments on the shelves. He emerged a second later with the grape jelly, and turned to add it to his collection on the kitchen island - bread, peanut butter, and now jelly as well. That was no surprise to her - she had learned early on in their relationship that there weren't many things that he and Walter agreed on, but when it came to late-night snacks, they were both firm believers in a good peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich.
He didn't seem to have heard her come down the hall, so she strolled over to stand behind him as he constructed his sandwich, then wrapped her arms around his torso from behind, resting her head between his shoulder blades. Turning in her embrace, he gazed down at her as his slow grin spread across his face.
"Hey, hon. Want some tea?"
"Sure, if you want company."
"If that company's you? Always. Peppermint flavor as usual?"
She nodded, and moved to settle herself onto a stool as he poured the hot water. Coming back with the mugs, he set them down on the counter, then scooted the other stool closer and sat down. They sat in companionable silence while they sipped at the tea, and as she came to the bottom of the mug, she looked over at him, catching him staring at her with a smile on his face.
"What's so amusing?"
"Nothing really. It's just... well... I was thinking how lucky I am. Between you and Etta, things couldn't be more perfect."
She leaned over and kissed him gently, then pulled back far enough to respond.
"I love you too. Now will you come back to bed? There are some nice warm blankets that are calling my name..."
The memory fades out, and she returns to the present, but the contentment she had felt that night lingers for a moment in her mind, reminding her of how good their life together had been. For once in her life, happiness like that had been the norm, rather than the exception, and that night had been only one of many when she had almost believed that it could last.
It would be easy for her to blame him for letting go of what they had together, for abandoning her after spending years convincing her to trust him, but tonight, she feels sorrow instead of anger. She understands now that it takes two to break a connection, that they are equally guilty of letting go of each other. He may have taken that step first, but she gave up on him as well, stopped hanging on because it was hard. So although she has not fully forgiven him, she can't bring herself to be mad at him anymore.
And as she watches him tonight, remembers how perfect they had been together, she knows that she wants that back, wants him back. So she waits for the right moment to approach him, willing to face whatever might come for a chance to recover what they once had.
She is Olivia Dunham, and so, on the day when she is blown out of the amber, when she opens her eyes to see the people she thought were lost to her forever, she is overwhelmed by so many conflicting emotions that she has no idea how to process them.
Guilt, because of how wrong she was to give up on her daughter. Pride, in the strength she sees in the young woman who fights for those who don't have the courage to fight for themselves. Sorrow, at the memory of all that has been lost to time and circumstance. Longing, to find out everything about who her daughter has become. Regret, when all that remains between him and her is a distant echo of what they once had. Fear, that even this will be lost to them and she will be alone for good. And somewhere deep down, hope, although she barely allows herself to acknowledge it. Hope, that nothing can be so damaged that it cannot be rebuilt, that there are some things that can survive anything the universe throws at them.
So it is not the strangeness of this new world that keeps her awake that night, nor is it the hard mattress, or the unfamiliarity of her surroundings. No, it is the young woman asleep in the next room, and the man sprawled across the mattress against the wall opposite her - these are the reasons she watches the clock mark off hour after hour, unable or unwilling to close her eyes. And although she faces away from him, she knows he is not sleeping either, notices each time he rolls over, hears him breathing, so close to her and yet so infinitely far away.
She lies perfectly still as the hours pass, watches the numbers on the clock change slowly - 3:26... 3:27... 3:28... As the last digit changes from an eight to a nine, she hears the faint creak of old floorboards as he quietly pushes himself up from his blankets and pads out of the room, his bare feet making almost no noise on the dusty floor. It is only then that she rolls over, in time to watch him disappear down the hall, and moments later the sound of cupboards opening and closing lets her know where he is.
She waits until the noises from the kitchen have stopped, then for several minutes longer, and when he does not reappear, she moves from her bed to the doorway, and, when there is still only silence, heads towards the kitchen. Even now, she is not sure why she follows him, or whether she wants to have another painful conversation with him, so she moves carefully, silently, hoping he will not notice her until she has decided what she wants. And the universe seems to be on her side tonight, as he is sitting at the kitchen island with his back towards her, his feet hooked on the rungs of his stool and his attention entirely on the steaming mug in his hands, allowing her to stop and watch him unobserved.
As she stands there in the shadows, leaning against the door frame, the scene in front of her takes her back to a better time, to another quiet evening when she had followed him down to the kitchen of their home.
She had been woken abruptly in the middle of the night by the mattress shifting as he rolled out of the bed, and as he shuffled out of the room, she also crawled out from under the covers. As her feet landed on the floor, the cold seeped into her toes, and she quickly pulled on the pair of slippers that Walter had bought for her, thankful for once for his odd notions of necessities. Chuckling softly to herself at the memory those slippers brought to mind, she crept quietly down the hall, stopping at the nursery door to peek in on Etta as she went by.
By the time she reached the kitchen, he had already put the kettle on to boil, and his head was hidden behind the fridge door as he rummaged through the leftovers and condiments on the shelves. He emerged a second later with the grape jelly, and turned to add it to his collection on the kitchen island - bread, peanut butter, and now jelly as well. That was no surprise to her - she had learned early on in their relationship that there weren't many things that he and Walter agreed on, but when it came to late-night snacks, they were both firm believers in a good peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich.
He didn't seem to have heard her come down the hall, so she strolled over to stand behind him as he constructed his sandwich, then wrapped her arms around his torso from behind, resting her head between his shoulder blades. Turning in her embrace, he gazed down at her as his slow grin spread across his face.
"Hey, hon. Want some tea?"
"Sure, if you want company."
"If that company's you? Always. Peppermint flavor as usual?"
She nodded, and moved to settle herself onto a stool as he poured the hot water. Coming back with the mugs, he set them down on the counter, then scooted the other stool closer and sat down. They sat in companionable silence while they sipped at the tea, and as she came to the bottom of the mug, she looked over at him, catching him staring at her with a smile on his face.
"What's so amusing?"
"Nothing really. It's just... well... I was thinking how lucky I am. Between you and Etta, things couldn't be more perfect."
She leaned over and kissed him gently, then pulled back far enough to respond.
"I love you too. Now will you come back to bed? There are some nice warm blankets that are calling my name..."
The memory fades out, and she returns to the present, but the contentment she had felt that night lingers for a moment in her mind, reminding her of how good their life together had been. For once in her life, happiness like that had been the norm, rather than the exception, and that night had been only one of many when she had almost believed that it could last.
It would be easy for her to blame him for letting go of what they had together, for abandoning her after spending years convincing her to trust him, but tonight, she feels sorrow instead of anger. She understands now that it takes two to break a connection, that they are equally guilty of letting go of each other. He may have taken that step first, but she gave up on him as well, stopped hanging on because it was hard. So although she has not fully forgiven him, she can't bring herself to be mad at him anymore.
And as she watches him tonight, remembers how perfect they had been together, she knows that she wants that back, wants him back. So she waits for the right moment to approach him, willing to face whatever might come for a chance to recover what they once had.
*****
The hot tea is soothing, and as he sits holding the mug in his hands, he thinks long and hard about the future. He finds it hard to believe that he could ever really get his family back; it seems too good to be true, and so, of course, it probably is. But he hopes for it nonetheless, sees possibilities where once he would have only seen futility.
"And I thought you were a card-carrying cynic..."
He shakes his head and grins wryly as he remembers the smirk on her face when she said those words. It seems so long ago now, almost as if it had been an alternate version of himself in the car with her that night.
"What's so amusing?"
He jumps at her question, not having realized that he was no longer alone in the kitchen with his thoughts. And how to explain this one to her now, that he was hoping for their future, when she made it very clear just a month ago (or actually twenty years, but it feels like a month to him) that whatever they'd had was over for good, even if he ever did decide to come crawling back to her? Even the memory of that last exchange causes him to cringe inwardly, so he falls back on what he has always relied on - a sarcastic comment to direct the conversation somewhere safer, somewhere where he doesn't have to risk having those hopes destroyed, those possibilities closed to him.
"Remember all those weird connections that you used to poke fun at me about? Well, I think our daughter has me beat for weird connections any day, and that's quite an accomplishment. I'm just feeling a bit of fatherly pride in how well she's following in the family tradition."
"Just what every mother dreams of - having her daughter grow up to be just like her father; a world-class con artist..."
"...who tries to save the world - don't forget about that part."
He grins at her, glad to be having a conversation that doesn't feel stilted or awkward.
"I seem to recall you had to be blackmailed into that..."
"...by someone with no actual blackmail material, who tricked me into joining Frankenstein's circus... With us for parents, how else did you think she was going to turn out?"
His voice trails off sadly at that last statement, as the forced cheerfulness gives way to the realization that there was never really any chance for his daughter to have a normal life, as he remembers all that they almost had and thinks of all the time they've lost. He drops his gaze back down to his cup of tea, not sure of what to say now, now that he has disrupted the easy back-and-forth. There are so many things he wants to say, but he doesn't have any idea how to begin.
Oh, Liv, I've missed you so much... And now I can't even find a way to tell you how sorry I am, how much I wish I could go back and change the past, be there for you like I promised I would be. And even now I still don't know if I could do it differently, if I could let her go so I wouldn't lose you, so how can I even ask you to forgive me? I was supposed to take care of you, take care of her, and instead I lost you both, and I will never forgive myself for that, so how can I expect you to? But Liv, I can't keep going like this; you are my home, you have always been my home, and to have you here but not with me, to have my family back but so broken... I can't keep doing this, I need you to understand, to forgive me, to help me forgive myself...
And he can't pretend he's alright anymore, can't even face her after failing her so completely, so he continues to stare into the depths of his mug, even as tears run down his nose and drip softly into his tea.
The hot tea is soothing, and as he sits holding the mug in his hands, he thinks long and hard about the future. He finds it hard to believe that he could ever really get his family back; it seems too good to be true, and so, of course, it probably is. But he hopes for it nonetheless, sees possibilities where once he would have only seen futility.
"And I thought you were a card-carrying cynic..."
He shakes his head and grins wryly as he remembers the smirk on her face when she said those words. It seems so long ago now, almost as if it had been an alternate version of himself in the car with her that night.
"What's so amusing?"
He jumps at her question, not having realized that he was no longer alone in the kitchen with his thoughts. And how to explain this one to her now, that he was hoping for their future, when she made it very clear just a month ago (or actually twenty years, but it feels like a month to him) that whatever they'd had was over for good, even if he ever did decide to come crawling back to her? Even the memory of that last exchange causes him to cringe inwardly, so he falls back on what he has always relied on - a sarcastic comment to direct the conversation somewhere safer, somewhere where he doesn't have to risk having those hopes destroyed, those possibilities closed to him.
"Remember all those weird connections that you used to poke fun at me about? Well, I think our daughter has me beat for weird connections any day, and that's quite an accomplishment. I'm just feeling a bit of fatherly pride in how well she's following in the family tradition."
"Just what every mother dreams of - having her daughter grow up to be just like her father; a world-class con artist..."
"...who tries to save the world - don't forget about that part."
He grins at her, glad to be having a conversation that doesn't feel stilted or awkward.
"I seem to recall you had to be blackmailed into that..."
"...by someone with no actual blackmail material, who tricked me into joining Frankenstein's circus... With us for parents, how else did you think she was going to turn out?"
His voice trails off sadly at that last statement, as the forced cheerfulness gives way to the realization that there was never really any chance for his daughter to have a normal life, as he remembers all that they almost had and thinks of all the time they've lost. He drops his gaze back down to his cup of tea, not sure of what to say now, now that he has disrupted the easy back-and-forth. There are so many things he wants to say, but he doesn't have any idea how to begin.
Oh, Liv, I've missed you so much... And now I can't even find a way to tell you how sorry I am, how much I wish I could go back and change the past, be there for you like I promised I would be. And even now I still don't know if I could do it differently, if I could let her go so I wouldn't lose you, so how can I even ask you to forgive me? I was supposed to take care of you, take care of her, and instead I lost you both, and I will never forgive myself for that, so how can I expect you to? But Liv, I can't keep going like this; you are my home, you have always been my home, and to have you here but not with me, to have my family back but so broken... I can't keep doing this, I need you to understand, to forgive me, to help me forgive myself...
And he can't pretend he's alright anymore, can't even face her after failing her so completely, so he continues to stare into the depths of his mug, even as tears run down his nose and drip softly into his tea.
*****
Her heart breaks for him as she watches him fall apart, but she stands motionless for an endless moment, searching to find the right way to approach him. He has always been better than her at offering support, a reassuring word or embrace flowing naturally out of him, while she struggles to offer the simplest of comfort, even to him. But tonight, he needs her, and so, with a few quick steps, she crosses the kitchen floor to him and cautiously places her hand on his back.
As she does, she can feel his sobs increase, shaking his body as he gulps in air. And then she notices what he is murmuring with each breath, and she closes her eyes as she hears the pain in his voice.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."
He repeats it over and over, a confession and a plea rolled into one, and each repetition tears at her heart, as she sees the depth of his anguish.
A small part of her notes that the guilt he bears is his in truth, that he deserves this pain after what he did, but it is quickly overridden by the piece that cannot bear to see him hurting, that has forgiven him so much already because there is no one else for her in this world or any other.
So she wraps her arms around his shoulders, holds him tightly as she whispers in his ear, gifts him with the only words that can release him from his distress.
"I forgive you."
She feels his breath catch as he hears her, and she repeats herself gently, offers again those beautiful words.
"I forgive you, Peter."
And his sobs begin anew, but this time she can feel the tension leaving his body, and she knows these are tears of relief rather than guilt. It is several minutes before he is able to begin to compose himself, and she holds him through it all, only letting go and stepping away when he straightens himself up and wipes at the tear trails on his cheeks.
Her heart breaks for him as she watches him fall apart, but she stands motionless for an endless moment, searching to find the right way to approach him. He has always been better than her at offering support, a reassuring word or embrace flowing naturally out of him, while she struggles to offer the simplest of comfort, even to him. But tonight, he needs her, and so, with a few quick steps, she crosses the kitchen floor to him and cautiously places her hand on his back.
As she does, she can feel his sobs increase, shaking his body as he gulps in air. And then she notices what he is murmuring with each breath, and she closes her eyes as she hears the pain in his voice.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."
He repeats it over and over, a confession and a plea rolled into one, and each repetition tears at her heart, as she sees the depth of his anguish.
A small part of her notes that the guilt he bears is his in truth, that he deserves this pain after what he did, but it is quickly overridden by the piece that cannot bear to see him hurting, that has forgiven him so much already because there is no one else for her in this world or any other.
So she wraps her arms around his shoulders, holds him tightly as she whispers in his ear, gifts him with the only words that can release him from his distress.
"I forgive you."
She feels his breath catch as he hears her, and she repeats herself gently, offers again those beautiful words.
"I forgive you, Peter."
And his sobs begin anew, but this time she can feel the tension leaving his body, and she knows these are tears of relief rather than guilt. It is several minutes before he is able to begin to compose himself, and she holds him through it all, only letting go and stepping away when he straightens himself up and wipes at the tear trails on his cheeks.
*****
As she moves away and situates herself on the stool next to him, he realizes exactly how much he wants to find a way back to what they used to have. She is the one person who knows him better than anyone else; he belongs with her, and he knows it, so he takes a deep breath and lays his hopes on the line.
"You want to know what I was really thinking about when you came in? I was thinking that maybe there's a chance for us..."
He looks over at her, trying to gauge her reaction to that statement. As usual, she isn't showing much of what she's thinking, but at least she doesn't get up and leave, so he supposes that's a good sign.
"I know, kind of an odd thought for an old cynic like me..."
At that, he catches the corner of her mouth twitch upward, and when she responds he knows she's remembering that same long-ago conversation.
"You, a card-carrying cynic? It's been a long time since that description actually fit you, Peter, and we both know it."
Pushing his mug out of the way, he crosses his arms on the countertop as he huffs out a sardonic chuckle.
"Maybe it'd be better if it still was true, you know. After all, that cynic wouldn't have held on to Etta and wound up hurting you... Hell, he wouldn't have had a family to mess up in the first place..."
He can tell he has her attention now, notices out of the corner of his eye as her gaze darts over to him and she stiffens slightly. This isn't the direction he intended this to go, but now that he's started he finds that even though she's forgiven him, he really needs to explain to her exactly what happened inside him to bring them to this point, so he continues.
"I was good at it, you know. At never needing anyone, never really connecting, never getting emotionally involved. It might not have been the most fulfilling life, but I was fine with it, even liked it some days. And then you came along and changed all that... That "frustrated romantic", the one hiding behind all those smart remarks? You gave me the courage to be him, gave me a reason to want to be better, for you."
He runs his fingers through his hair as he speaks, his words tumbling out one on top of the next, his voice raising and tempo increasing as he careens towards his conclusion.
"And maybe I'm still just a frustrated romantic - God knows life has thrown enough our way for that to be totally true - but somewhere along the way that became okay. I had you, I had her, I even had Walter, and somehow, at some point, the cynic couldn't ignore all the good in my life, the way that alternate universes and radically altered timelines and even dying couldn't stop us from being together. And even when we lost her, when I knew deep down there was nothing I could do, I couldn't just move on anymore, I couldn't run, because how do you give up the best thing you've ever had? How do you let go, when you've already bent universes and time itself to have one more chance to make things right?"
There is silence in the kitchen as he finishes, and he finds himself holding his breath as he waits for her response. The future of the world may not hinge on what she says next, but he's pretty sure their future does, and right now that matters more to him than anything else.
As she moves away and situates herself on the stool next to him, he realizes exactly how much he wants to find a way back to what they used to have. She is the one person who knows him better than anyone else; he belongs with her, and he knows it, so he takes a deep breath and lays his hopes on the line.
"You want to know what I was really thinking about when you came in? I was thinking that maybe there's a chance for us..."
He looks over at her, trying to gauge her reaction to that statement. As usual, she isn't showing much of what she's thinking, but at least she doesn't get up and leave, so he supposes that's a good sign.
"I know, kind of an odd thought for an old cynic like me..."
At that, he catches the corner of her mouth twitch upward, and when she responds he knows she's remembering that same long-ago conversation.
"You, a card-carrying cynic? It's been a long time since that description actually fit you, Peter, and we both know it."
Pushing his mug out of the way, he crosses his arms on the countertop as he huffs out a sardonic chuckle.
"Maybe it'd be better if it still was true, you know. After all, that cynic wouldn't have held on to Etta and wound up hurting you... Hell, he wouldn't have had a family to mess up in the first place..."
He can tell he has her attention now, notices out of the corner of his eye as her gaze darts over to him and she stiffens slightly. This isn't the direction he intended this to go, but now that he's started he finds that even though she's forgiven him, he really needs to explain to her exactly what happened inside him to bring them to this point, so he continues.
"I was good at it, you know. At never needing anyone, never really connecting, never getting emotionally involved. It might not have been the most fulfilling life, but I was fine with it, even liked it some days. And then you came along and changed all that... That "frustrated romantic", the one hiding behind all those smart remarks? You gave me the courage to be him, gave me a reason to want to be better, for you."
He runs his fingers through his hair as he speaks, his words tumbling out one on top of the next, his voice raising and tempo increasing as he careens towards his conclusion.
"And maybe I'm still just a frustrated romantic - God knows life has thrown enough our way for that to be totally true - but somewhere along the way that became okay. I had you, I had her, I even had Walter, and somehow, at some point, the cynic couldn't ignore all the good in my life, the way that alternate universes and radically altered timelines and even dying couldn't stop us from being together. And even when we lost her, when I knew deep down there was nothing I could do, I couldn't just move on anymore, I couldn't run, because how do you give up the best thing you've ever had? How do you let go, when you've already bent universes and time itself to have one more chance to make things right?"
There is silence in the kitchen as he finishes, and he finds himself holding his breath as he waits for her response. The future of the world may not hinge on what she says next, but he's pretty sure their future does, and right now that matters more to him than anything else.
*****
His heartfelt confession tugs at her soul, causing her to realize something that she really should have seen all along - that the one thing which made them a family was the absolute, unstoppable, passionate, and dangerous love that they shared. And when she let go of that love, choosing instead the safer kind, the love that holds back a piece of itself in order to avoid the possibility of pain, the bonds that held them together started to slip apart. He would never have given up on her, or on Etta, and she should have done the same, loved them both with the strength and devotion that had sent her across universes for him so many years ago.
And in that instant, she remembers what it feels like to love that strongly, to love without fear and without restraint, and she sees that he could never have let Etta go, not without losing a piece of himself in the process. So she turns towards him and takes his hand, grasps it firmly as she responds.
"You don't let go... I understand that now."
He looks up at her with hope shining in his eyes, and she gives him a soft smile as she continues.
"And this time we won't, ever. Not of her and not of each other. Not again... I want what you want, Peter - I want us to be a family again."
After all this time, she cannot take one more minute of separation now that she knows they both want the same thing, so she slips from her stool, moving to embrace him. And he seems to read her mind, simultaneously standing and opening his arms to her, as she slips into the familiar, comforting haven of his arms for the first time in what feels like an eternity.
She knows that they still have a long road ahead of them as they rebuild their family, but tonight they have begun to put the pieces back in place, and tomorrow they will continue the process, one small step at a time. And she allows herself a moment of hope in the midst of the bleakness of the future they have been transported to, because it just isn't possible for her to cling to her instinctive pessimism on the day when she has been given back everything.
So she wraps her arms around him a little tighter, as she swears to herself that this time they will make it through; this time they will hold together, no matter what comes their way.
His heartfelt confession tugs at her soul, causing her to realize something that she really should have seen all along - that the one thing which made them a family was the absolute, unstoppable, passionate, and dangerous love that they shared. And when she let go of that love, choosing instead the safer kind, the love that holds back a piece of itself in order to avoid the possibility of pain, the bonds that held them together started to slip apart. He would never have given up on her, or on Etta, and she should have done the same, loved them both with the strength and devotion that had sent her across universes for him so many years ago.
And in that instant, she remembers what it feels like to love that strongly, to love without fear and without restraint, and she sees that he could never have let Etta go, not without losing a piece of himself in the process. So she turns towards him and takes his hand, grasps it firmly as she responds.
"You don't let go... I understand that now."
He looks up at her with hope shining in his eyes, and she gives him a soft smile as she continues.
"And this time we won't, ever. Not of her and not of each other. Not again... I want what you want, Peter - I want us to be a family again."
After all this time, she cannot take one more minute of separation now that she knows they both want the same thing, so she slips from her stool, moving to embrace him. And he seems to read her mind, simultaneously standing and opening his arms to her, as she slips into the familiar, comforting haven of his arms for the first time in what feels like an eternity.
She knows that they still have a long road ahead of them as they rebuild their family, but tonight they have begun to put the pieces back in place, and tomorrow they will continue the process, one small step at a time. And she allows herself a moment of hope in the midst of the bleakness of the future they have been transported to, because it just isn't possible for her to cling to her instinctive pessimism on the day when she has been given back everything.
So she wraps her arms around him a little tighter, as she swears to herself that this time they will make it through; this time they will hold together, no matter what comes their way.
*****
That day in the kitchen of a dingy apartment, something lost is returned.
And for a few short days, there is hope in the world again.
That day in the kitchen of a dingy apartment, something lost is returned.
And for a few short days, there is hope in the world again.
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